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My First Novel: Chapter Fourteen

And now, once again, we present the further adventures of private eye Mike Delaney. Let me know who’s reading!

Chapter Fourteen

By the time Mike reached Zack’s it was almost 11:00 pm. Exhausted, he sat on the rocks below the bar’s back deck, as the swells crashed against the shore. He was nearly frozen, but he paused before going inside to see Gloria. The waves had calmed down. But Mike was anything but calm.

He’d made his escape from Murphy’s Ranch, but he’d made a hash of what was supposed to be a surveillance mission. Because of his clumsiness, it turned into a gun battle. Luckily, he wasn’t wounded. But he wondered if he’d hit anyone. If he’d killed anyone. And what happened when the cops finally arrived? Did Horst and Huber get away? And, if they did — what would be their next move?

One thing was sure. Mike had just thrown a wrench into their plans.

His uneasy thoughts somewhat eased, Mike went inside. Gina was behind the bar, serving a half dozen guys. She looked up, saw Mike, and gestured to where Gloria was waiting for him in her booth. Mike nodded and smiled at Gina. He was still struggling with the fact that she was Gloria’s granddaughter. Had Gloria told her anything about him yet? About Gloria and him? That would be some crazy conversation.

“Took you a while, Mike,” said Gloria, as Mike slid into the booth across from her.  “Take your coat off and relax. You look like you need a drink or two.”

In an instant, Gina appeared with a bourbon on the rocks, set it down in front of Mike, and went back to the bar. Maybe Gloria had told her something about him. He took a long sip of his drink. He’d need several more after all he’d been through.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened? Or do we play twenty questions again?”

Mike took another sip and leaned back with a wince. He ached in more places than his hip. “Tonight, baby…” He paused to collect himself, “…was wild. Totally nuts. I’ll try to explain it when we get back to your place.”

“Back to my place? You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

Mike blushed. She was teasing him. Or was she?

“I’m sorry, baby. I just don’t think this is the best place to talk.”

Gloria smiled. Her face betrayed concern, but she knew Mike needed a break.

“Fine. So, let’s just enjoy our drinks and talk about the weather. And how cute you are in your brand-new clothes.” Mike blushed again. “Which you seem to have gotten awful dirty tonight.”

They exchanged a knowing look, then sipped their drinks in silence for a time, until that silence was broken by a loud voice at the bar.

“Holy shit! That’s just down the road! Turn up the TV, Gina!”

Mike and Gloria looked toward the bar. All the guys had put their drinks down and were staring at the three televisions over the bar. All three TV stations appeared to be covering the same story. Gina turned up the volume on one set so loud that Mike and Gloria could hear the news anchor clearly from their booth.

“Around 9:00 pm this evening, police responded to reports of gunshots heard in Rustic Canyon below Sullivan Ridge Road in the Pacific Palisades…”

Gloria reached for Mike’s hand and squeezed it. Mike gave her a quick glance, rolled his eyes, and turned back to the TV.

“We go now to our reporter on the scene, Jeff Calderone, for more details. Jeff? We know that neighbors heard gunshots and called the police. What more can you tell us?”

“LAPD is being tight-lipped at this point, but we can report that several police units responded to the scene – an area known to locals as Murphy’s Ranch. The first units to arrive were met with gunfire coming from the woods on the canyon side of the road, and at least one officer was seriously wounded…”

Mike winced. It was his worst nightmare. That some poor cop might pay for his mistake. The reporter went on.

“Police on the scene returned fire but report being seriously outgunned. SWAT teams were called in, and helicopters trained their searchlights on Rustic Canyon. The copters were fired upon, too. Once the SWAT teams arrived, the police used loudspeakers to call upon the shooters to surrender. Eventually the gunfire stopped, and an armored SWAT vehicle knocked down the fence so a SWAT team in full combat gear could move down into the canyon. Cops I’ve talked to compare it to a war zone.”

Mike wondered what kind of arrests had been made. And how many.

“Two pickup trucks were pulled over about a mile or so from here on Pacific Coast Highway, and several men were taken into custody. It appears that more shots were exchanged before the arrests were made. No word on casualties…”

Gloria was squeezing Mike’s hand so hard it hurt. He turned back to look at her. She looked scared. If she only knew how scared he was. Not for his own safety, but for the cops who came up against those gun-crazy militia nuts. And he feared for his country. It began by accident when he tripped over that stupid bush — but the first shots of a possible civil war had been fired.

The first blood had been shed.

Back at Gloria’s beach house, a half-empty bottle of bourbon sat on the coffee table – and the Rustic Canyon shootout was still all over the TV news. Mike and Gloria sat side by side on the couch, stunned by the breathless reporting of what was fast becoming a national news story. Mike was amazed that every channel soon had its own custom-made “Rustic Canyon Shootout” graphics.

Mike couldn’t believe it. He expected a story in the morning papers. That is, if the writer could get it to his editor fast enough and the type could be set before the presses ran. Back in Mike’s day, which was, incredibly, only several days ago for him — there were only fifteen minutes of TV news a day. And the four TV channels went off the air at 11:00 pm. Now, television never went to sleep. And some channels appeared to be covering the news twenty-four hours a day.

All night long, more details of the mass shooting at Murphy’s Ranch emerged.

At 2:00 in the morning a reporter gave the latest update. At least three police officers were shot in the crossfire. One in critical condition. Sources said that more than a half-dozen armed gunmen were shot in the exchange of fire with SWAT team members along Sullivan Ridge Road and down in Rustic Canyon. Unofficial reports from those on the scene suggest that some of the gunmen were wearing body armor, and that at least four or five were found dead…”

Mike put his arm around Gloria and held her tight. Too tight.

“Relax, honey,” she said, “Let’s turn it off and go to bed. You’ll need your rest for whatever the hell is coming next.”

“I had to defend myself, baby. Those crazy bastards. You should’ve heard ‘em — eating up everything those sick old Nazis were saying. I wanted to kill them all right then and there. Maybe I should’ve…”

Gloria dialed Mike down. “There’s nothing more you can do about any of this tonight,” she said. “We’ll go see Andy first thing tomorrow. He might know more than the TV people do.”

After a few more drinks, Mike and Gloria went to bed. She gave her exhausted lover a kiss — and Mike responded with unexpected enthusiasm. Escaping a deadly gun battle hadn’t cooled his ardor.

“Get some sleep, baby,” Gloria advised, in a voice that made it hard for Mike to do what he was told. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

She turned out the light.

After a few more drinks, Mike and Gloria went to bed. She gave her exhausted lover a kiss — and Mike responded with unexpected enthusiasm. Escaping a deadly gun battle hadn’t cooled his ardor.

“Get some sleep, baby,” Gloria advised, in a voice that made it hard for Mike to do what he was told. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

She turned out the light.

Gloria was right. Mike needed a rest. He hugged her close. Despite the violent insanity he was dealing with, Mike was thrilled to be spending another blessed night with Gloria. The difference in years meant nothing. Being with her was wholly, soulfully satisfying — if only this time-traveling Nazi crap wasn’t part of the bargain. He ached for the years they’d lost.

Aided by the bourbon, he allowed his troubled mind to surrender to momentary oblivion.

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Filed under Adventure, Art, Classic Film, History, Novel, Politics, Truth

My First Novel: Chapter Ten

Thanks, folks! Glad to know you’re following Mike’s story. It’s always nice to hear from readers! As pharmacist David says in the Prevagen commercials, “That makes my day.”

Chapter Ten

Mike walked along the road out of Griffith Park toward Los Feliz Boulevard looking for his next mount. He felt guilty about stealing another car, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t hitchhike all the way to Malibu. Odds were slim to none that anyone would pick up a ratty-looking guy like him and give him a thirty-five-mile ride to the coast.

The intersection with Los Feliz Boulevard was in sight when Mike spotted his prey: a beat-up Cadillac Coupe DeVille with a license plate reading “CADDY63.” He’d hotwired a few Cadillacs back in the day. Skillfully using his tools, it was a cinch to pinch. He switched plates with the car parked next to the Caddy and was soon on the road.

Moments later, Mike was cruising west on the Ventura Freeway, a road that didn’t exist back in his day. After twenty miles, he took the Las Virgenes exit and drove south for ten miles until he hit Pacific Coast Highway. From there, he was home free. Mike had concerns about driving around in another automotive museum piece, but from the looks of the modern cars that whizzed by, he’d never be able to boost one of them. Once he got this car close to Zack’s, he’d leave it somewhere as a gift to the cops, who would soon be looking for a missing ‘63 Cadillac Coupe DeVille.  

A few minutes later, Mike pulled onto the shoulder of PCH a quarter of a mile from Zack’s and left the Caddy for the police. He walked the rest of the way, dog tired, and reached Zack’s more in need of a drink than he’d ever been in his life. Problem was, he had no cash. As he staggered through the door, he wasn’t firing on all cylinders — but he was glad to see Gina behind the bar. Maybe she’d pour him a beer on credit. He was more than willing to swallow his pride for a swig tonight. He looked like hell. And he smelled bad, too. He’d have to rely on what was left of his minimal charms.

Mike had only a puncher’s chance of guessing what would happen next. It was all way too much. He told himself to focus on the here and now. Walk up to the bar, take a seat, and hope for the best. Flag down the lovely Gina and hope she’s in a giving mood. He felt three sheets to the wind – and he hadn’t even had a drink yet.

Mike settled onto a barstool and waved to Gina. How could be possibly tell her what he’d seen and heard and done this evening? He couldn’t. He couldn’t tell the cops, either. The whole thing was insane. All he could do was get hammered and steel his nerves for tomorrow night’s meeting at Murphy’s Ranch.

It was a busy Saturday night at Zack’s. Gina caught his eye and signaled she’d be right with him. Exhausted as he was, her attention thrilled him. And made him feel guilty, too. His thoughts turned to Gloria.

After serving another customer, Gina greeted Mike and asked what she could get him. Mike blushed and stammered, knowing full well how bad he looked. He needed a beer, he confessed, but he was out of cash. Tapping the dregs of his pride, he asked if he could possibly get a beer or two on credit. Gina smiled sweetly, without an ounce of pity. “Let me talk to my grandma, Mike. She’s the boss. If it was up to me, I’d give you a six-pack on the house.”  

Mike watched as Gina disappeared behind the bar. Soon after, her grandmother came out, stared at Mike in a meaningful, penetrating way, and walked over to the jukebox. She punched in some numbers, and after a beat, some guy was singing…

Won’t you wear my ring — up around your neck?
To tell the world I’m yours, by heck
Let them know I love you so…

Gina’s grandma strode from the jukebox over to Mike. She had to be in her seventies, but she’d clearly been a real looker in her day. In fact, take away the years and she looked an awful lot like his Gloria. She fingered a chain around her neck as she sidled up to him. Like she’d known him all her life.

“Gina says your name is Mike,” she said.

“That’s right…” Mike stammered.

“Call me crazy, Mike,” she said, leaning in close. “Haven’t we met before?”

Mike realized he was staring at her open-mouthed like the village idiot. He lowered his gaze – and saw his ring on the chain around her neck! There was no mistaking it: a little diamond between two blue sapphires. Then he caught the scent of her perfume. Jasmine. Of course! His head and heart were about to explode.

“You know who’s singing this song?”

Mike had no idea.

“Of course, you don’t, Mike. You have no idea who Elvis Presley is, do you?”

He had to admit he didn’t.

“Who won the World Series this year? And don’t look it up on your smart phone.”

It was a standard spy-catching trick during the war. Many a Kraut in a G.I. uniform had been stumped by that question while trying to infiltrate the American lines. Mike didn’t even venture a guess.

“The drinks are on the house, Mike. I don’t know what in this crazy world is going on,” she said, fondling his ring, “but you’re not leaving my bar until you tell me all about it.”

How could he tell her? What could he tell her?

Then again, who else could he tell?

“Gina! Get this young man a beer – and keep ‘em coming. I’ll have the top shelf bourbon myself.” She turned back to Mike. “Join me at my private table.”

Mike followed her to the last booth along the wall that faced the sea. Through the windows, the moonlight caught the whitecaps as choppy waves rose and fell. Mike’s heart was churning like the surf. He was in a drunken stupor and had yet to touch a drop. As she slid into the booth, he knew who this woman was. Who she had to be.

“My name’s Gloria, she said, looking straight through him. “Ring a bell?”

Mike searched his tumbling thoughts for something to say at this impossible moment – but he couldn’t take his eyes off Gloria’s face. As he looked at her, the years melted away. He beheld the girl she’d been all those years ago — though, for him, it had only been a couple of days. How could be possibly make sense of that?

Luckily, Gina arrived with their drinks, granting him a brief reprieve.

Gloria told Mike to take off his jacket, and he did as he was told. “Roll up your sleeves and get comfortable. We’re gonna be here awhile.” Mike obeyed, revealing the Marine Corps tattoo on his right forearm. It was just what Gloria was looking for. She raised her glass.

“Here’s looking at you, Mike. I believe we both could use a stiff drink right now.”

Mike took a long chug of his beer, hoping to steel his nerves. He still hadn’t said anything, but Gloria took control. Hadn’t she always taken control? “We can play twenty questions, Mike. But just a couple will do. Let’s start with this ring. When do you think I got it?”

There was nothing he could do but tell the truth – and hope for the best. “Well, for me, it was — just a few days ago. But for you, it’s been fifty-seven years.”

He searched her face for a response. “Fifty-seven years — and three days.”

Her eyes flickered for a moment, but she went on, calmly and directly. “Four days, Mike. And where was I when you gave it to me?”

“You were behind the bar. But you didn’t wear it until the next day — when you wore it on that chain around your neck.”

She smiled. “You told me not to dip it in somebody’s chili.” She remembered it all.

At that point, there was no holding back. This 76-year-old woman was the girl he’d asked to marry him — and then he vanished. As incredible as the story was, she had a right to know what the hell was going on. She had to know that he didn’t just run out on her.

“I had to break our movie date that night because I was on a new case.”

“You said you had to go to a meeting at 7:00.”

“I did. It’s the truth. But before I left, you went out to the parking lot with me and gave me a great big kiss. It was the greatest feeling I ever had in my life.”

“And after I kissed you — what did I say?”

“You said you’d marry me.”

“And what did you say?”

“I promised we’d get married as soon as I closed the case”

“So, Mike Delaney,” she said with the same warmth she’d bathed him in when she accepted his proposal all those years ago, “Have you closed the case?” She finished her bourbon with a longing, pained smile. “A girl can’t wait forever.”

Gina interrupted with another round of drinks and left as fast as she came. She’d never seen that look on her grandmother’s face.

The look of a young girl in love.

Mike’s weary mind wandered for a moment. If he hadn’t followed Huber through that time portal, he would be eighty-five years old right now, enjoying his golden years with Gloria. Probably sitting in this very same booth…

Gloria patted his hand, snapping him out of his reverie. “Drink up, Mike.” She sipped her second bourbon. “What the hell happened after you drove off that day?”

Mike took a long slug from his beer mug, heaved an exhausted sigh, looked deep into Gloria’s eyes — and summoned the strength to tell her the whole unbelievable story.

He must have talked for an hour straight, leaving out no detail, however small: how he found the strange black brick, traced it to Murphy’s Ranch, and discovered the mad Nazi time-travel plot. How he tracked down Dr. Huber and followed him through the time portal and into the future.

He told her about the meeting with the Bund Boys in Griffith Park and the dangerous plans they had for igniting a race war. He paused; worried that Gloria might think him insane — but she wasn’t judgmental. It was almost as though he was convincing himself that it all actually happened.

He paused only when Gina came by with another round.

Gloria said nothing. Her eyes flared when he recounted moments of danger and teared up when he said how desperate he was to return to her. When he was finished, when he had taken her up to the point where he parked the stolen Caddy and walked into Zack’s that night, Gloria finally asked him a question.

“Why did you do it, Mike? Why did you go through the time portal?”

She was near tears now, struggling under the weight of all the lost years. “Why did you take that risk?”

“Because I had to, baby. I’m a detective.”

He continued in his defense, “I’m not a great one, I’ll admit, but I’m a detective. Maybe I could’ve gotten the drop on Horst and bagged Huber that night. But would that have stopped their plan? I didn’t know, Gloria. I still don’t know.”

“But if you gave Huber to the FBI, you would’ve collected the reward money, Horst would go to prison for harboring a wanted fugitive, and you and I would have spent all these years together.” It sounded like a rebuke, but there was no bitterness in it. Gloria gazed right through him.

“I know why you did it, Mike. You wanted to solve the mystery. Busting Huber before he went through that portal would’ve closed the case – but it wouldn’t have solved the mystery.”

Gloria was right, of course. Mike’s eyes grew wet. It had been a selfish thing to do. He’d gambled their happiness on the unknown: on an inconceivable adventure. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said as the tears came, “I should’ve been thinking about you. About us.” Mike was nearly overcome.

Gina approached the table with another round, but Gloria waved her granddaughter off.

She leaned into Mike, close enough to kiss him. “So, what are we gonna do about it, lover? Cry in your beer? Or work our way through this crazy maze?” She sniffed. Then smiled. “First thing we’ve gotta do is get you a bath — and tomorrow, a new suit. You need a jacket, too. It’s winter, for godsakes.”

“I can’t have my man looking like a homeless bum, no matter what century he came from.”

Mike was amazed. Gloria’s love for him had endured for decades. She told him about the guy she married ten years after Mike went missing: a poor, unhappy fella who soon learned that she’d always be carrying a torch for the detective that disappeared. They gave birth to Gina’s mother, but he couldn’t play second fiddle to a phantom. So, he took a powder and Gloria never saw him again.

Mike had ruined Gloria’s second chance for happiness all those years ago. What could he offer her now?

The situation was impossible, but Gloria didn’t see it that way. She wasn’t shocked by the notion of time travel. She’d seen a lot in her long life. Anything seemed possible. Technology was out of this world. She told Mike that the iPhone he was carrying had more computing power than NASA had when they put men on the moon.

Mike had no idea what NASA was. He wasn’t even sure what “computing” was. “They put a man on the moon?” His bloodshot eyes were wide in amazement.

“When in the hell did that happen?”

Gloria saw that Mike had way too much to learn. She’d have to take the lead.

“I’ll fill you in on the space race later,” she said. “Right now, you’re coming home with me.”

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Filed under Adventure, Art, Classic Film, History, literature, Novel, Politics, Truth

My First Novel

I’ve written in a variety of formats over the years: plays, comedy revues, poems, songs, sitcoms, documentaries, screenplays – even Bazooka Joe comics. But never a novel. Until now. I recently finished my first novel. It’s unlike anything I’ve written to date. I don’t intend to shop this novel. I’d just like folks to read it. So, I’m presenting the first chapter here. If, and when, ten people “like” this post – I’ll post Chapter Two. And so on. Enjoy.

MALIBU NOIR

A Novel by Paul Barrosse

Dedicated to my darling Victoria

And to Peter Barrosse

My Dad & Veteran of the Korean War

Chapter One

From where Mike Delaney sat on his stool at Zack’s Oceanside Dive in Malibu, the Pacific Ocean looked anything but pacific. A storm was building, howling hard across the Santa Barbara Channel.

The surf slammed into the jagged rocks and wooden pilings below Zack’s waterfront deck, yet the gal working the bar wasn’t concerned. The crashing waves shivered Zack’s timbers, but 20-year-old Gloria polished her beer and shot glasses with no hint of concern. She was cool. And she was hot.

Gloria and Mike had been flirting for a few months now. At least Mike thought she was flirting with him. He normally did pretty well with girls. He was tall and good looking. Ever since The Asphalt Jungle came out the year before, he sometimes got compared to the movie star Sterling Hayden. Guys would call him “Dix” just to needle him. Yeah, he did okay with the ladies — but Gloria wasn’t just another chick he was looking to score.

Gloria was nice to Mike, but it was hard to tell how much she liked him because she was so damn nice to everybody. Still, he sensed she was extra nice to him. Gloria was the best thing Mike had found since he got back from the war six years ago. Since he survived the war. Swiveling on his bar stool to better track Gloria’s movements, a sharp, painful twinge in his hip reminded Mike how narrowly he survived.

Gloria’s mother, Barbara, owned the joint. Her late husband Zack was an abalone diver who cashed out, sold his boat, and bought the bar from the original owner who moved back East after a Malibu wildfire swept down the hillside and nearly torched the place. Gloria planned to go to college, but when her dad suddenly died of a brain aneurysm, she began helping her mom out at the bar.

Gloria was no typical barmaid. She was special. And Mike Delaney was falling hard for her. He wished he could tell her how crazy he was about her.

He wished he felt better about himself.

Johnnie Ray was crying on the jukebox as Mike tried to get his mind off Gloria by paging through a leftover Los Angeles Times. There wasn’t much news out of Korea lately. The war had ground to a stalemate after Heartbreak Ridge. That was the Army’s show. And a bloody show it was. Mike had found out just a week ago that he knew a couple guys who bought it in that useless battle. He knocked back the rest of his second beer, then waved to Gloria for another.He turned to the sports section to get his mind off war and death.

Mike was a baseball fan, and a pretty good player himself. He started in center field for his high school team and played some ball in the Marines before he was wounded. But a makeshift diamond on a shell-blasted island in the Marshalls was nothing like well-groomed Gilmore Field, where his favorite team played. The Hollywood Stars had ended the ‘51 Pacific Coast League season with a record of 93 wins and 74 losses, but they only finished in second place. Mike soon tossed the paper aside. Winter was the worst for baseball news. There was nothing new on the Stars.

By now, Mike was into his fourth beer — with more to come. Nothing specific drove him to drink. He came out of the war better than a lot of his buddies. He was alive after all. But he didn’t feel settled. He wasn’t over it. Any of it, really. Zack’s was the one place where, gazing at Gloria, he began to feel he was in the right place at the right time. He was dealing with a lot of stuff. It was about Gloria, sure. But it was about a lot more.

By the time Patti Page was singing “The Tennessee Waltz”, Mike was two more beers into his evening. It was his birthday, December 10, 1951. When you’re born between Thanksgiving and Christmas, you learn life doesn’t revolve around you. You get lost in the holiday hubbub. From as early as Mike could remember, he tried to let things roll off his back. He tried not to sweat the small stuff. He practiced being easygoing.

It wasn’t always easy. And he didn’t always succeed.

Most private dicks were anything but easygoing — but the hardboiled thing wasn’t Mike’s bag. Not that his 29 years of life experience didn’t justify cynicism. Hell, total nihilism was an appropriate reaction to what he’d seen and done. But Mike wasn’t wired that way.  He signaled Gloria for another beer. He wasn’t into the hard stuff anymore. Mike and strong booze didn’t get along.  

Not very long ago, they got along too well.

Gloria handed Mike a new bottle of beer. “That’s number five,” she noted with a smile, before whisking away his empty and moving on to her other customers. Mike felt she served him with an attention she didn’t pay to anyone else. She was even counting his drinks. That proved Gloria cared about him. The goddess Gloria.

For Mike, it was just he and Gloria at the bar that night. Everyone else was a bit player — like extras in the movies being shot all over town, like some rookie on the far end of the Hollywood Stars bench. When the right time came, Mike would be up to bat, he’d knock it out of the park, and Gloria would be his!

With these thoughts in mind, Mike fumbled in his pocket.  

It was still there.

He’d found a strange object earlier that day and didn’t know what to make of it.

Mike had been surfing the storm-driven swell off Point Dume and was walking back to his car when he saw something odd lying on the shoulder of Pacific Coast Highway. It was a black rectangular thing about five inches long, three inches wide, and maybe a half-inch thick — heavy for its size. One side of it was metal and the other side was glass. On the metal side it had an image that looked like an apple with a bite taken out of it and “iPhone 3G” written in small letters. On the right side was a button. There were smaller buttons on the left side. Mike tried pressing all the buttons – and must have hit the right one because the object suddenly lit up!

A message appeared on what looked like a tiny television screen. The message was written against a light blue background in German. “Murphy’s Ranch Donnerstagabend 20:00.”

Then the screen went dark.

Mike tried to turn it on again — but no luck. Maybe its battery died. Did the thing even have a battery? What the hell was it? Mike tucked the thing back into his pocket and with an instinct born of detective work, he took out his small reporter’s notebook and wrote, “Murphy’s Ranch Thursday night 8:00.”

Lucky for Mike, German was basically a second language to him. His mother’s family left Hanover just before the First World War, and growing up, German was spoken quite a bit in his home. At UCLA, he majored in chemistry, but took some German classes for an easy ‘A’. When he enlisted, he played down his fluency, afraid he’d be sent to the European front as a translator. A surfer boy from Southern California, he preferred to serve with the Marines in the Pacific. Not that he ever got a chance to surf on Tarawa.

As Mike sat at the bar, mooning at Gloria, he ran over in his mind whether he should show the strange object in his pocket to her – whatever the hell it was. Would she think he was nuts? It mattered a lot to Mike what Gloria thought of him, if she ever did think of him. He decided it was best to keep the damn thing to himself and not mention it. At least not yet.  

Mike was just getting to know Gloria. Weeks ago, he dared to ask how old she was — and was stunned to learn she was only nineteen. That she was so much younger than him, — and so innocent — made him nervous. She was just nine years old when the Japs hit Pearl Harbor! What could they possibly have in common? Was she too young for him? Are six bottles of beer too much? Was he too drunk to woo her? His vision of Gloria puttering behind the bar was getting blurry. It was time to go home.  

Mike got up, trying not to appear drunk. He didn’t want Gloria to think he was a lightweight. As he got up off his barstool, the old pain shot through his hip, sharp and searing: a too-frequent reminder that the Marine medics didn’t get all the shrapnel out. But six years after a Jap grenade almost cost him his leg, Mike wasn’t feeling sorry for himself. The shrapnel lodged in his hip was a pain in the ass – but it was also a reminder of the injury that punched his ticket off Iwo Jima. Lots of guys didn’t make it off those eight square miles of hell. Sometimes Mike wondered if maybe some vital part of him got left on that volcanic slagheap.

“Hey, Mike!”

He turned to see Gloria advancing with a pot of coffee. “How about a cup of Joe for the road, cowboy?” She was playfully implying he’d had too much to drink — but Mike was thrilled to think she even cared. He drained the cup his goddess offered. Was she sweet on him, too?

Mike set his cup down and Gloria picked it up saying, “Happy birthday.”

“How did you know?”

She smiled. “You told me after beer number one.”

Mike was hoping she didn’t see him blushing as she pirouetted with the coffee pot and put it back on the burner. She glanced back at him for a moment. “Drive safe, Mike. See you tomorrow?” 

Mike managed an unsteady, “For sure” and imagined himself blowing Gloria a gallant kiss as he floated out of the bar. The pain in his hip was dulled by the beer — and the pounding of his heart.

“Bobby Thompson got lucky!”

Abe and Iggy sat at the end of the bar, getting into it again. Abe Shatz was a Yankees fan. Ignatz Kalicky bled for the Giants. Ever since the World Series, they had the same argument at varying volumes. They were zealots. If Abe and Iggy weren’t arguing about baseball, they were arguing politics and the Korean War. Peace talks were underway in Panmunjom — but not at their end of the bar. Peace was impossible with those two. Mike was a big fan of peace. The brutal battles to liberate all those islands in the Pacific convinced him that peace was the only answer.

As he walked to his car, Mike could hear the ominous pounding of the surf.  His mind wandered to the day, coming soon, when he would summon the nerve and declare his love for Gloria. He’d ask her to marry him — crazy as that might seem. In fact, he’d buy an engagement ring the very next day. He’d do the whole thing first class. She was, after all, the classiest girl he’d ever known.

But should he talk to Gloria’s mother first? Or was that old fashioned? Was he being an idiot? Did Gloria even share his affection? Wasn’t she sending all the right signals? Or did she see him as just another barfly? Should he ask her out on a date before declaring his love? A clap of distant thunder punctuated that thought.

His reverie broken, the shooting pain in his hip returned.

By the time he reached his car, he’d almost forgotten about the odd black object in his pocket. He climbed in behind the wheel and took the thing out to examine it again. The screen was still dark, but he remembered: “Murphy’s Ranch Thursday night 8:00.”

He took a last look through Zack’s window and caught a glimpse of Gloria shutting the place down for the night. Tomorrow, he’d get that ring and find his courage.

Mike’s apartment was less than a mile north of Zack’s, one of three small units in a rundown beach house along Pacific Coast Highway. As he drove home in his beer-fogged state, he pondered how he’d gotten to his 29th birthday in such an unsettled state. He wasn’t always this way. He used to be more certain of himself: certain about what he wanted and how to get it.

He felt like he was at the beginning of a turning point in his life. It wasn’t just about whether he’d ever marry his glorious Gloria. It was the mysterious thing he’d stumbled on. The strange black brick in his pocket. It was “Murphy’s Ranch Thursday night 8:00.”

Drunk as he was, he was more excited about tomorrow than he’d been in years.

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